"FOLLOW ME"
It is not too difficult to follow Jesus when we know that following Him leads to eternal glory. Jesus assures us: "I go to prepare a place for you" -- a place in His Father's house of many mansions. Following is a happy and profitable business with this ultimate and blissful prospect before us.
But to follow Jesus involves more than just the end of the road. He tells His disciples to take up their crosses daily and follow Him. There will be a daily crucifixion of one's own interests for the sake of the Kingdom of God. A crown at the end of the road involves a cross along the way. If we suffer with Him we shall also reign with Him.
Jesus' path led toward Jerusalem where His cross awaited, where His blood would be poured out as an offering and a sacrifice for our sins. Would-be followers of Christ will inevitably come to that cross. They will bow low before the slain (but risen) Lamb of God confessing themselves altogether sinful and owning Him and His offering as their salvation.
As they travel down life's highway from that Mount called Calvary toward their Heavenly Home they will have opportunity to shoulder their own cross, not as Christ, for salvation, but as a follower of the Christ of the cross.
A cross is something that cuts across our path and makes an otherwise easy and enjoyable existence rather difficult and unpleasant. Everyone encounters them but only the child of God sees in them a Godly design and continues to follow Jesus who has gone that way before. Paul affirms "that we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God." He exhorts, "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: who . . . made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant . . . humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.
"Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him." Let us steadfastly follow HIM, knowing that though His path leads through the valley of the shadow of death, at last it crosses the threshold where we shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Let us fix our gaze determinedly -- "looking unto JESUS . . . who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising (looking lightly upon) the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider HIM that endured . . . lest ye be wearied and faint in your minds."
-- The Editor
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"The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which is lost."
-- Luke 19:10
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"AFTERWARDS"
By Charles H. Spurgeon
How happy are tried Christians, afterwards.
No calm more deep than that which succeeds a storm.
Who has not rejoiced in clear shinings after rain?
Victorious banquets are for well exercised soldiers.
After killing the lion, we eat the honey; after climbing the Hill Difficulty, we sit down in the arbour to rest; after traversing the Valley of Humiliation, after fighting with Apollyon, the shining one appears, with the healing branch from the tree of life.
Our sorrows, like the passing keels of the vessels upon the sea, leave a silver line of holy light behind them "afterwards."
It is peace, sweet, deep peace, which follows the horrible turmoil which once reigned in our tormented, guilty souls.
See, then, the happy estate of a Christian!
He has his best things last, and he therefore in this world receives his worst things first.
But even his worst things are "afterward" good things, harsh ploughings yielding joyful harvests.
Even now he grows rich by his losses, he rises by his falls, he lives by dying, and becomes full by being emptied; if, then, his grievous afflictions yield him so much peaceable fruit in this life, what shall be the full vintage of joy "afterwards" in heaven?
If his dark nights are as bright as the world's days, what shall his days be?
If even his starlight is more splendid than the sun, what must his sunlight be?
If he can sing in a dungeon, how sweetly will he sing in heaven!
If he can praise the Lord in the fires, how will he extol Him before the eternal throne!
If evil be good to him now, what will the overflowing goodness of God be to him then?
Oh, blessed "afterward!"
Who would not be a Christian?
Who would not bear the present cross for the crown which cometh afterwards?
But herein is work for patience, for the rest is not for today, nor the triumph for the present, but "afterward."
Wait, O soul, and let patience have her perfect work.
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Your sins are many. The sands of the sea-shore are few in comparison. But each must be blotted out, or you die. A sin unpardoned cannot enter heaven. What, then, will you do? One thing is clear. You cannot undo the done. You cannot recall the past. But behold "the more excellent sacrifice" -- "Christ our passover is sacrificed for us." It cleanses from all sin. Through it, all manner of sin is forgiven to the children of men. It makes the scarlet, white as snow, and the crimson, like wool. It changes the vilest into perfect purity. Its merits can render you spotless.
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Christ is omnipotent to bear away the countless sins of the whole multitude of the redeemed. He is sufficient to clothe them with righteousness meet for heaven. He is irresistible to subdue every foe. He is all-glorious to present them all-glorious before the throne of God -- and to encircle them with all glories forever.
-- Things Concerning Himself
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THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING
By Henry G. Bosch
All sickness is not chastening. Lazarus became ill through no fault of his own. Jesus allowed him to suffer and die that He might have the opportunity to call him forth from the tomb. In this way Jesus' Divinity was exhibited to all. Lazarus' sickness was "for the glory of God."
F. B. Meyer has discerningly written, "The child of God is often called to suffer because there is nothing that will convince onlookers of the reality and power of true religion as suffering will do, when it is borne with Christian fortitude . . . Everyone cannot be trusted with trial. All could not stand the fiery ordeal. Some who are Christians would speak rashly and complainingly. So the Master has to select with careful scrutiny the branches which can stand the knife, and the jewels which can stand the wheel. It is given to some to preach, to others to work, but to others to suffer!"
Have you ever heard the legend of the mignonette and the gravel walk? The mignonette is a plant that has greenish white spikes of perfumed flowers. "How fragrant you are this morning," said the gravel walk. "Yes," said the mignonette, "I have recently been trodden upon and bruised, and it has brought forth all my sweetness." "But," said the gravel walk, "I am trodden on everyday, and I only grow harder." The commentary on life is obvious. The sanctified send forth sweetness that blesses all who come in contact with them, while others become hard and bitter under suffering.
How do you react under adverse circumstances?
(In OUR DAILY BREAD, copyright Radio Bible Class, Grand Rapids, MI)
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The following prose and poetry are by one who was well acquainted with the "ministry of suffering."
PAIN
Why should I write of pain? Pain is a private matter. So are sorrow and suffering. Their battles are not to be fought in the public arena. Sometimes, it is true, there is the victor's crown, but often enough the dust of defeat . . .
I look at this thin body of mine, which has suffered so much. Long ago it was erect and untwisted. The mirror shows me a face marked by lines of anguish and weariness. Sometimes I hate that body and that face, as one shrinks from the body and face of an enemy. Other times I give it only pity for its fate of being host to that strange inmate, Pain.
Few have entirely escaped pain, if only in a lesser degree. Many must live in a terrible intimacy with this alien thing until released by death.
Pain is ancient; almost as old as humanity, fully as old as sin. Pain strives to be king. Its chariot is a plow which digs deep furrows; its entourage, weakness and discouragement, weariness and depression, false hopes and broken dreams.
Pain has its own peculiar problems: financial, mental, nervous, and spiritual. There is the daily, hourly, never ending task of trying to keep normal, to maintain balance, mentally and spiritually, when one is all unfit physically. What is to be done with sleepless nights, to make them profitable? With wasted moments, that they may bear fruit? What compensates for the growing weakness of body as it breaks functionally under the strain?
Pain likewise has its own distinct vocabulary. The shocked ears in time grow used to hearing words which once were strange when applied to one's self -- tuberculosis, temperature, hemorrhage, asthma, gallbladder, arthritis, ankylosed spine, angina, sinus trouble, anemia, ulcers, amoeba, Parkinson's disease, cancer. A grim procession when these are but words: grimmer yet when they are actual facts . . .
You who are well, why should I open the door of my life and introduce you to these strange guests whom you would not like? You who are ill, you already know their faces too well. Not only their faces but the problems they bring, their implacable ways, their insatiable demands for their pound of flesh, even their very vocabulary. Why should I reiterate the dismal chant?
Instead, for your refreshment I have . . . bared to you the heart of a frail child whose very frailty God was pleased to use as an instrument for His service and glory.
IN THE MORNING
As was its wont, my day began with pain,
The old familiar suffering again;
And yet, because my day began with prayer,
I bore no pain alone -- my Lord was there.
My day began with weakness, I was spent;
But if I ever wondered what it meant,
He showed me, ere the day had reached its length;
My weakness was made perfect in His strength!
My day began with heavy clouds and gray,
But in my heart no clouds so thick that they
Shut out His light. His face cannot grow dim
To those who walk by faith, as seeing Him!
My day began with wealth. I know
In Christ I am as rich as He, and so
The cattle on a thousand hills are mine,
The gold and silver and the stars that shine.
Each day begins with hope! With every dawn
The shining dream that ere the sun has gone,
Gone too will be all pain, for He may come!
This morning here -- tonight, perhaps, at Home!
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The following are by
Martha Snell Nicholson
MY SICKROOM
My sickroom is the heart of me;
It beats with pain and love and grief;
Its pangs are often sharp as death,
Yet strangely sweet beyond belief;
Weary and worn when day is done,
Yet I have clouds with golden rifts,
For always in the wistful dusk
Come tender angels bearing gifts.
A battleground where forces meet,
And lances shatter end on end,
As marching hours go down to death;
Thine angels oft for me contend.
Lord God of battles, gird me with
Thine armor bright! O strengthen me;
Heal Thou my blindness! Round my bed
Thy marching hosts mine eyes would see!
A schoolroom where I learn of God
And con my lessons o'er and o'er,
Of love, of faith, of patience, hope --
The alphabet of heavenly lore;
At night I put my books away,
And from my window try to trace,
in all that heavenly host above,
The shining of my Teacher's face.
A sanctuary -- Thou art here!
No darkest hour is spend alone;
And with my hand in Thine, at last
I learn to say, "Thy will be done."
O holy hours, alone with Thee,
How sweet within Thy will to rest,
Secure from storm, beneath Thy wings!
Mold Thou my life; Thou knowest best.
* * *
TODAY
Help me to place in Thy hands today
The thing that my heart most fears --
Tomorrow's anguish and bitter pain,
Tomorrow's sorrows and tears;
The long, long years, and the loneliness,
The silence, the vacant chair . . .
The grief of today is enough, dear Lord,
But tomorrow's I cannot bear!
Ease Thou my burden and lighten my load
Till only today is left.
Soft comes His voice in the hush of my soul.
"O broken heart, and bereft,
"My grace is sufficient for thee today,
Pillow upon My breast
Thy weary head, in My circling arms
Today thou shalt find rest.
"Today I can meet thine every need.
Today My love can fill
The echoing chambers of thine heart.
Then rest thee, and be still."
Be still and trust . . . tomorrow's tears
May all be wiped away
By God Himself . . . O grieving heart,
Thy Lord may come today!
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THE GREAT PHYSICIAN
When I was just a little girl
Sometimes my mother said to me.
"Come take your medicine, my child,
And it will make you well." And she
Would bring the hated bottle out.
And yet I did not hate the hand
Which measured out the bitter dose,
Although I did not understand.
And now, a child of larger growth,
My heavenly Father watches me,
And notes my soul grow weak and ill.
Who better knows the remedy
Than He, our great Physician? Lord,
I love and trust that tender hand
Which measures out the bitter dose,
And some day I shall understand.
* * *
THE SICKROOM
My prison cell is open at the top,
And so I do not care
That guarding walls press close, and that there are
No doors nor windows there.
My prison cell is open at the top,
And far and far away
Beyond a billion million teeming suns
I let my fancy stray.
For from my bed, as I look upward, the
Rectangle of my walls
Becomes for me a magic open frame
Through which God's splendor falls.
And so His glory fills my little room!
I do not mind at all
When walls press close. And some day I shall hear
At last His clarion call,
"Come home, my bride!" And swift as light, I'll soar
And leave this prison cell,
And my small room, wide open at the top
Will be an empty shell!
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"THE REDEEMED SHALL WALK THERE"
Some day I shall walk again!
Sometime my eager feet,
Sensing a blessed Presence near,
Shall turn and run to meet
The One who, dying on a cross,
Redeemed by flesh and soul,
Straightened this twisted spine of mine,
And made me new and whole!
All memory of helplessness,
Of crutch, of iron brace,
Will melt like mist when I behold
The beauty of His face!
And so I wait. On swift wing comes
That blessed moment when
He'll take my hand, and smiling, teach
Me how to walk again!
* * *
(In HER BEST FOR THE MASTER, Moody Press, Chicago.)
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"BECAUSE I LIVE"
"Because I live, ye shall live also." John 14:19.
Jesus Christ lives today as surely and truly and really as when He first spoke these words to His early disciples. He is known as the living One. Prophecy records Him saying in the future: "I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore." He was seen alive after His resurrection by more that 500 brethren at one time besides being seen by Peter and James and the other Apostles and later by Paul.
That Jesus arose bodily is the best attested fact in all Christendom, in all the world. What more evidence, what better evidence, do we need than the word of these evidently honest and sincere eye witnesses who many of them later sealed their testimony with martyrdom? The evidence that clinches the argument is that still, small voice of witness of the Holy Spirit to our heart that these things are so. I have experienced this witness, I know He lives, for He lives within my heart.
The living One says to all who believe: "Because I live, ye shall live also." "YE SHALL LIVE ALSO." "He which raised up the Lord Jesus shall raise up us also by Jesus." This is eternal life. "God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He that hath the Son hath life" -- "he that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life."
What does this mean practically? Among other things it means we shall at last be free from sin. We might read our text: "Because I live free from sin, ye shall live also free from sin." Meditate for a moment on that. -- Free from sin. -- This means we shall be free -- oh, happy thought -- from sin's author or originator, Satan; from sin's spawning grounds, the world; and from our own old depraved nature so prone to sin. Free at last from temptation, falling, back-sliding, the many consequences of sin. Free to live holily, righteously unto Him who bought us and pardoned us and loosed us from our sins with His own precious blood and who shall receive us unto Himself where nothing that defiles shall ever enter.
Christ's living now free from sin does not imply that He ever lived in sin. He was always sinless, undefiled, separate from sinners. But in some mysterious way on the cross He was made to be sin for us. Our sins were heaped upon His holy person and He bore them away, never to be remembered against us anymore. Then He arose. And ascended. Now at the Father's right hand, sharing the glory He had with Him before the worlds were in existence, Jesus lives free from the damning, earthly octopus called sin. And because He lives thus, we shall live thus.
What a blessed prospect! All our present troubles, our sorrows and sicknesses, our tears and pain, our heartaches and calamities, all can be traced to this devilish monster, sin. Sin built the original barrier between ourselves and our Creator which only the death of His Son could tear down. Sin breaks our fellowship with our lovely Lord. Sin has done nothing but hurt us all our lifetime. BUT HEAR THIS: "Because I live (free from sin), ye shall live also (free from sin)."
I am writing to those who know too well the consequences of sin. Bodies deteriorating, death coming on all too swiftly. Tears mixed with pain. Weakness, apprehension. But take heart weary one, look up, look unto JESUS. Believe in Him. Trust Him. His promise to you is: "Because I live, ye shall live also." Practically, this means we shall have all the good things which sin has deprived us of, and we shall be delivered from all the evil which sin has foisted upon us. Among the "good things": We shall see Him; we shall be with Him; we shall be like Him.
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I WAS A WANDERING SHEEP
I was a wand'ring sheep,
I did not love the fold,
I did not love my Shepherd's voice,
I would not be controlled:
I was a wayward child,
I did not love my home,
I did not love my Father's voice,
I loved afar to roam.
The Shepherd sought His sheep,
The Father sought His child;
He followed me o'er vale and hill,
O'er deserts waste and wild:
He found me nigh to death,
Famished, and faint, and lone;
He bound me with the bands of love,
He saved the wand'ring one:
Jesus my Shepherd is;
'Twas He that loved my soul,
'Twas He that washed me in His blood,
'Twas He that made me whole:
'Twas He that sought the lost,
That found the wand'ring sheep;
'Twas He that bro't me to the fold,
'Tis He that still doth keep.
No more a wand'ring sheep,
I love to be controlled,
I love my tender Shepherd's voice,
I love the peaceful fold;
No more a wayward child,
I seek no more to roam;
I love my heav'nly Father's voice,
I love, I love His home!
By Horatius Bonar
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FOREVERMORE
Dreaming here upon my bed of pain
Of the time when Christ will come again,
Of the time when suffering will be o'er . . .
O it will be good
Never to know sickness anymore!
Never to remember, through the years
We spend with Him, the bitter taste of tears
Never to remember griefs we bore . . .
O it will be good
Never to know sorrow anymore!
Homesick for those mansions far away;
Waiting, longing, praying for the day
We clasp again our loved ones gone before . . .
O it will be good
Never to be parted anymore!
Thinking back along my path of life
Of the fierce temptations and the strife,
Of the times I was not conqueror . . .
O it will be good
Never to be tempted anymore!
To hear His blessed voice through endless days,
To clasp the hand that led us on life's ways,
To see at last the One whom we adore . . .
O it will be good
To be with Christ our Lord forevermore!
-- Martha Snell Nicholson
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NEAR TO ME
Tonight, My child, I long to draw thee near;
Your day, each moment, is all known to Me;
And now I long to hold you, child so dear;
I am not far -- just lift your eyes and see.
Canst see Me, child? My arms are waiting thee;
Canst hear My call? "Come nearer to My heart."
Dost know that thou art very dear to Me?
My child, as dear as Christ, My Son, thou art.
Dear child, just now I'd draw you up above;
I want to hear that I am all to thee;
I long to hear you tell me of your love;
Child of My heart, more dear you could not be.
Come, child, and rest within My arm just now,
And thou shalt know My love, until again
The teardrops come as on My breast you bow
In sweet communion with your dearest Friend.
Art coming, child? I'm very glad, Dear one;
I died to purchase this sweet rest for thee;
I gave My best, My Own, My Precious Son
To bring you, oh, so very near to Me.
Come close, yea, closer yet, My precious one,
My great Heart yearns in deepest love for thee;
Another day has seen the setting sun;
And thou art tired -- but child, I'm here with thee.
-- Yvonne Virginia Smith
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